


Pride's Resolve

by Fifth_Jupiter



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Oneshot, pairing and prompt generator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:35:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3438935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fifth_Jupiter/pseuds/Fifth_Jupiter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thedas so vast and unexplored, the Fade is dull and unchanging when anchored to one spot. The Breach opens, two demons spit out; Pride and Hunger know only the tales and nothing more. </p>
<p>(Pairing and prompt generator: Hunger and Pride demon, swashbuckling pirates. Oneshot for now.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride's Resolve

**Author's Note:**

> I got Hunger and Pride demons, swashbuckling pirates from the DA pairing and prompt generator and decided to have some fun with it.

     She chose her for the name.

     There were better vessels; larger ones, faster ones, newer ones. Ships that did not creak in protest rather than anticipation, that had less mildew and rot in their boards than they did lacquer. When they stepped into the hold rats scurried across the feet of the boatman, caused him to skitter backwards into Hunger's chest. He apologized profusely, but there was a dark twinkle in his eye - she paid it no mind, had only eyes for the ship. It was not to say that she was not a  _fair_  vessel - it was that others were fairer.

     In the end though, Hunger handed the man the bag of sovereigns and had him on his way. The dark twinkle was replaced with a glint, a glint of greed, of yearning. Of Hunger. It would take him less than a fortnight to squander the gold, to find himself yearning for ever bigger things. They had eased their games with mortals, become more subtle in them to conceal their nature. Pride could not begrudge her this, though.

     Pride found her leaning against the railing, face turned into the wind. It howled, harsh in this barren port thats name had fled as soon as it was said. Howled as it raced over gray rock and stone, carved the town itself from them - or might as well have. But Hunger only smiled, face turned into the gales. Her lips curved into a smile - chapped and bloodied lips - and her eyes were closed, but her fingers curled tight around the railing. Even here, even relaxed as she looked, she could not deny what she was. Neither could Pride - but Hunger was not so easily hidden.

     Pride leaned against the rail beside her, reached out and covered one of Hunger's hands. She turned her smile towards Pride then, dark hair flagging in the wind behind her. Flagging - the true flag of her ship, as it were.

     She was never content for long, never able to sit still and enjoy a moment. Long fingers brushed against Pride's cheek, swept under the chin of the body worn before she pulled Pride close. Physical affection - a foreign concept in the Fade, where the physical and ethereal blurred together and stood starkly apart simultaneously. Pride did not see the appeal - but she hungered. And so Pride gave; gave, but never took.

     When Hunger pulled back it was only an inch, and she spoke against Pride's lips with a smile on her own. "Rivain is delightful this time of year."

     "We require a a crew." Hunger's voice, high, whistling, and beautiful fit her. Pride's own - was not expected, never something to grow used to. It was low, rumbling. Deep and slow. Like Sloth.

     Her eyes bore into Pride, dark as the earth in the gray town. "Then," her teeth grazed a lip still. "find me a crew."

     "Only the best," Pride promised.

     Only the best, for the  _Pride's Resolve._

* * *

      The town was stale.

     Where Thedas was already dull, devoid of the true colors of the Fade, the city itself was bland beyond reason. It was dead - no, it was farther gone than that. It was not even animate. The buildings, the plants that struggled through cobbles, even the people - all stale, Pride decided. They had long past expired, they just did not know it yet.

     It was here that they must find a crew, or their ship would never sail. And Pride would not sail under less than pristine masts. It was surely not doubt that plagued Pride; surely not doubt over their ability to find such a crew.

     Hunger pointed them to the tavern; the Teyrn's Rest. Pride followed, and found some small burst of fresh life when they pulled open the door. In here, it seemed, the town had gathered all of its air. Gray, but also brown and black and red, yellow like wilted lemons and bronze that was tarnished as well. Here, conversation floated and whorled, allowed to thrive rather than quashed as it formed. It was a place of breath.

     Pride did not hide the satisfaction.

     The life did not dim when they entered but the mortals did; pale, withdrawn souls that looked on with suspicion even in their interest. Pride saw hands drift to knives on belts, combat skills boasting. Steps taken back to shadows, cloaks drawn close in quiet dwelling of their stealth. Fists clenched by sides, no skill to hide behind - no skill, no, Pride saw agreement as eyes met Hunger's. Not skill but accident here, accident in the power they wielded, often with shame and fear. But beside it a quiet egotism, a hidden confidence in this mistake they tried to make their own. And some with only death inside, distant looks and no assessment of threat; they might as well be the wall by which they stood.

     Wall mice, Pride thought as eyes found them and Hunger led by the hand. No skill, no boast, no story; hidden from sight and scraping by on life. Plucked from the dust and shaken off, offered the world and fed, fattened on their own hubris. They would not resist Pride.

     She laughed when Pride told; the barmaid looked, contempt in her features, thought herself better, an elf who dared to laugh with her master? Despicable. Hunger's eyes lidded, looked to the petty girl and then back, smile lilted the same. "Wouldn't you rather a challenge?" Follow the eyes, to the serving girl and past, Pride found the first, the daggers and knives. Farther yet, stiff backs and rejection, old wives' tales gone wrong that barred entry. Deep in each, a want. A desire. A Hunger, of course.

     "I'd rather the best." Eyes leveled on hers, she rolled them upwards. She called Pride's repetitions 'cute', but sometimes it spoke of 'grating'. "Variety." That brought her eyes back, predatory smile in place and teeth flashed.

     "Let's see who will serve under a  _knife-ear_."

* * *

     Thirty-seven.

     Thirty-seven sneered at and left on the docks, bad luck on the lips of men. Thirty seven with wanderlust and with homes burned behind them, torn by the Blight. Thirty-seven chased from Imperial armies with no regard for their skill, thirty-seven left in the dirt with no copper and nothing to sell but themselves. Thirty-seven that wanted and wandered and needed and  _knew_  they were better or they could be or they would be.

     Thirty-seven offers and thirty-seven accepted.

     As each spoke Pride heard their victories and defeats, saw their happiness and heartbreak as well as their desperation. Hunger saw their wants and their fears, their darkest dreams. Between the two, easily broken, easily swayed. An offer, a touch, each easily made.

     Hunger was right; some hated the knife-ear, the barmaid one. Looked to Pride for direction, saw Pride as the master. Pride would be their master, it was obvious, but not hers. She was the captain, Pride the right hand, the extended reach. Pride did not defer, but did allow her to speak, supplemented words when needed and snared them.

     Others loved her for it, called her  _sister_  and  _lethallan_ , their own tongue a whisper of the past but foreign to human ears. Loved her or praised her, saw someone they could follow. It mattered not; a different offer but accepted all the same.

     Pride they feared. Respected, deferred, hated; feared. It was the body, Pride knew. So similar to their own, whatever the race, but different in their mind. Pride was the one who had turned them away or cast them out or burned their home or slaughtered their child. Pride was the face to which they attached evil, lesser or greater. Pride took it in stride and used it as was wont, but Hunger looked with pursed lips and a frown. It did not stay long.

     They called her captain, saluted or bowed or stared before they went to gather their things; Pride was 'ser' or 'my lord'.

     And so thirty-seven boarded the  _Pride's Resolve._ Thirty-seven with knives at their belts and shadows in their feet, with the Fade in their blood or empty of all. Thirty-seven easily drawn, wary eyes upon Pride as orders were given. Thirty-seven under Hunger and one by her side.

* * *

     Her name was Lena. She was the fifth.

     Farm girl peasant, easy to break. But she had already broken, once, twice, thrice and rebuilt. Before, she would not have made it; now she walked Pride's domain, approached on the deck. Hands calloused and darkened, stained permanently with blood that Pride saw and she saw but the others felt. Skin patched, odd clothing to hide her shape, hide  _her_ , left marks behind. Girded skirt, light blouse; not of the seafaring peoples then, for she wore a shirt.

     "Sky fall's open and you think 'drop it all and sail, become a pirate'?" She asked - said, but the question was there, sat herself on the railing and draped over the ropes rather than held on. Liked the risk of falling, liked the spray on her back, liked the wind. Pride looked up from the map, pressed to the outer walls of the hold. Rigger, Pride recalled, with nothing to do at the time.

     Indeed, most of the thirty-seven seemed to be gawking rather than working, heads over rails and smiles splitting faces that had seen sorrow for so long. The Quartermaster, the eleventh, was below decks. Working, surely, but these ones escaped her command. For now, at least. If need be, Pride would intervene - but Hunger said nothing, stood at the wheel with the twenty-second, hands over hers. Hunger would have this one soon, Pride knew, and gained satisfaction from it. If they wanted her, Hunger's power was at work.

     "And a mate at that," she - Lena - continued. Pride looked back, turned the head, beard scratched against chest. Irritating. "Right hand, yeah? Quartermaster then, or boatswain - master gunner, even! Why mate?"

     "First mate." Pride corrected.

     "With no second." Lena countered and he saw her angle then. Her angle, her intent, but not all of it. Curiosity was part.

     "The captain needs only one."

     "But why one with so little power? I mean, we all know - you're first mate, but the girls who know sailing, we know you're not  _just_  that." How did she know sailing, Pride wondered? Farm girl with her heavy hands of blood. "Else you'd be swabbing with us, cooking below. Quartermaster, like I said."

     "Quartermaster's below."

     Lena sighed, puff of air and pushed from the railing. "Fine, be a git."

     Pride wondered if she smiled as she left as Hunger did after an insult.

* * *

     Hunger and Quartermaster eleven fought and fought fast, fought hard, Pride at her side and Lena at Pride's but four at eleven's. Captains ruled in battle, pointed the directions; Quartermasters ruled the crew. Hunger's grip was too tight, too large, and they quarreled, but it was resolved without blood.

     Eleven and nine and thirty-one in the captain's quarters, Pride and Lena without. Oh, how they wanted.

     Quartermaster ruled the crew; Captain ruled the Quartermaster.

     It was not conventional, but neither were their thirty-seven.

     "But I like it," Hunger sighed, fingers in the beard at Pride's chin. The body, large, slow; ugly. Menacing. Hunger liked it, Pride did not. Saw no beauty in this, even in Hunger's form. She was beautiful before, dark beauty with sloped back, with eyes sunken, with Fade within her. This was wrong, but it suited; Pride's did not.

     "It distracts." Pride was right and Hunger knew, for she found a blade to cut it.

     "It's not the beard." She cut it still, scraped it from the skin. Pride's head felt off-balanced as it came away, but Pride was quick to learn. "One man, and he's the most powerful on the ship."

     "Second," he corrected.

     "Most." Her hand squeezed Pride's shoulder. "I don't lie to myself where the true power is."

     Pride could not argue that. The beard was gone soon; Pride scraped fingers along the jaw. Not defined, but hard. Scratchy now, but beard gone. The hair would grow out too, improve it. A blow to human beauty to shed it all, but there was nothing to put it to Pride's own standards. The clothes could be shed then too, the finery replaced. What Hunger had bought was fine too, but differently fine. Not  _Orlesian_ as this had been; Rivani, maybe, Nevarran. Pride did not need to know the origin, the countries, only wore it. Tunic, breeches, all loose. 

     "Beads?" Pride questioned as she braided the hair.

     Hunger only hummed in assent.

     Lena stood from the dice game, left Eleanor and two. Her eyes roved up, down, up. Pride allowed the inspection.

     "Do we need to call you ma'am now?" The girl ventured, humor near the surface. Ah, there. At ease, it seemed. Good. If they trusted Pride, they would work better.

     Pride spared her no response, waved her alongside. She caught up, fell into step as they headed a-stern.

* * *

     Three weeks to Rivain with the storms, two to learn the names of the thirty-seven.

     One to know they had chosen correctly.

     Less did the crew wait by the rails when no orders were given, more did they find jobs to do. They worked hard, each of them, no punishments given; only rewards. After each, they craved more, their hunger amplified. Their pride swelling in each task they completed. Not one complained, not one fought.

     Quarrels arose as with the Quartermaster, but none hard to resolve. It was inevitable, with so many coveting their abilities, new or old.

     It was, Pride thought, a crew fit for the  _Pride's Resolve._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm considering writing more of these two but unsure, so feedback welcome.


End file.
